The Problem with Fruit Baskets
by The Readers Muse
Summary: "And if he could have figured out how to make his lungs work he might have laughed at that …Ideas? He'd probably shriveled up so small he might as well have rewound past puberty."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is my fill response to an unbelievably cute prompt posted on LJ at the TWD_Kink Meme community_:"Glenn/Daryl - Hypothermia: Something happens to Glenn and he needs to warm up RIGHT now. Daryl is pretty sure the world hates him. Anon's choice as to details, etc, etc! Run with it!"_ *****Rated for: adult language, adult situations, light slash, and adorableness.

**The Problem with Fruit Baskets**

He'd always been pathetic when it came to the weather. In fall when people wore wind breakers and light scarves, he wore a goose down winter jacket complete with the parka hood and ear flaps. He hated fall. He hated winter. And he sure as hell hated the cold. It was like comparing a tomato to a parsnip. They just didn't fit together, not on _any _level.

It was a sentiment much disparaged on by his mother. "Eh, still too skinny, _Yeon-in_," She would mutter affectionately, ruffling his hair and stealing his hat as he took his seat at the dinner table. Still muttering on in a barely audible mish-mash of English and Korean as she despaired about 'young men and their inability to properly look after themselves' as she strode off down the hall. Spatula banging against the oven in a flurry of rhythmic taps before she reappeared with a platter piled high with his favorites, _Tangpyeongchae_ and _Kongguksu._ Absolutely refusing to let him leave until she had sent him on his way with at least three or four containers stuffed to the brim with leftovers.

_His Uhm-ma had always been of the opinion that no man, grown up or otherwise, should have to survive his own cooking. …God, he missed her._

So perhaps that was the reason why he didn't remember the walkers. Or the dying autumn leaves and blazing colors that had whirled around him. Caught in a sudden gust of wind the moment before the world had flipped on its head. - He didn't even fully remember the moment when that bruising shoulder had dug deep into his gut. Forcing the air from his lungs in a percussive rush as Daryl had launched himself at him. Slide tackling him out of the way a mere moment before the snapping jaws of a walker nearly ham-stringed him from behind.

But what he _did_ remember was the water. _The cold..._ The frigid, sub zero chill. It wasn't even a sensation; it was more like a state of being, a place that you suddenly just found yourself existing in without warning. In fact, it was so cold that for a long moment his body refused to categorize it. He just couldn't. It was too much.

…_Heck,_ _it was so cold that somewhere along the line he'd forgotten how to breathe. _

His limbs went numb; blood winding down into a slow, pulsing thrum as the rushing crimson crawling just underneath his skin grew sluggish and thick. He could practically feel his cells freeze-drying on the spot, overwhelmed by the frigid burn that was steadily spreading across every inch of him, leaving only a worrisome, muted numbness its wake.

_Well that couldn't be good..._

He kicked his legs, tippy-toes only just scoring across the murky river bottom. He couldn't find a foot hold. Panic rose. What was he supposed to do again? Oh god. He didn't know what he was supposed to do. - He remembered only a few half muddled snatches from a guest seminar he had attended in his junior year of college. …Something about human biology and the cardio vascular system?

_Shit!_

He kicked to the surface at long last, inhaling half a lungful of water as he struggled to breathe. But he only got a few seconds of air before the powerful current took him under again. Vision tunneling until all he could see was the murky underside of the churning, opaque water. And the barely discernible ghosts of a few moss covered branches creaking in the powerful current. - His arms windmilled. He couldn't see which way was up. He kicked but didn't break the surface. He couldn't-...

…Though he could have sworn, just before the water roared over his head, swallowing him down with barely a froth rimmed ripple, that someone was hollering his name. The crisp syllables catching strangely against the growing roar before he lost the voice amidst the echoing thrum of his own panic stricken heart beat.

But then Daryl's hand was suddenly closing around his collar, deep voice snarling in his ear just before the water surrounding them pitched off into a vicious, rock-strewn rapid. Because just before he was sucked under, a strong, sopping wet arm clamped around his waist. Fishing him out of the main current and tossing him down into the driftwood and pebbles that lined the rivers edge like some sort of ill tempered Grizzly bear smacking fish from the shallows.

He was still spitting up water when the older man loomed over top him. Looking just about as cold and as dripping wet as he felt as the hunter knelt down and pounded a flat-edged palm against the small of his back. The sudden ferocity of the action making him promptly throw-up an unexpectedly large gut full of water that he didn't even know he had in him.

_Bastard._

He could only vaguely make out the sound of the man talking. Repeating his name over and over again until it slurred in his ears like the chorus of some half forgotten song. He could only shudder into the pebbles. Choking on a harsh, liquidity sounding murmur of thanks as he let his head slip down into the cool granite and sharp shale, as he gagged up another lungful of water.

His lungs heaved, forcibly expelling a thin, acidic dribble of river water and bile as thick, muscle-bound arms curled around his shivering shoulders. - Giving him something to hold onto as Daryl let him work through the worst of the heart-wracking spasms. Far too grateful for the support to think twice about it as he buried his face into the curve of the man's chest and tried to remember how to breathe.

And he couldn't help but consider the fact, mulling it over almost off-handedly as Daryl practically _dragged_ him back to the little hunting cabin they'd cleared only minutes before they'd been surprised by that small pack of Walkers. Too busy shivering and concentrating on trying to stay standing to realize that in order to _walk_ one had to actually _move_ their god damned legs, that there _really was_ a whole lot of overly familiar manhandling going on today.

_Because really, who knew that a simple hunting trip could go so fucking wrong?_

The sound of his chattering teeth nearly overshot that of the door slamming behind him. Unable to stop himself as the sound began echoing into the forced stillness with a hollow, and almost high pitched tone as the man dumped him on top of the rather moldy looking couch. - He watched the older man with worrisome disinterest as his vision shuddered. Gaze going soft lidded and hazy as he followed Daryl's progress around the room. Taking in the man's hurried, but practiced movements as he shored up the doors and covered the windows with the tacky, seventy-era blinds so they wouldn't be noticed by any geeks.

_But decorator's nightmare or not, as far as he was concerned this was the god damned Four Seasons._

Daryl appeared back in his line of sight so suddenly that he simply blinked up at him. River water still streaming down his face as the man yanked him upright again. Holding him steady as his knees nearly buckled in surprise, the room spinning on it's axis for a long moment before he realized he'd entirely missed what the man had said.

"Wha..?" He slurred, voice pitching just a mite too high as he shivered in place. Trying to sink further into the man's hold, desperate for the stinging, impossible warmth he could sense just underneath the man's skin.

"I said strip, com'on." The man growled, already following his own advice as the man's hands arrowed down the line of buttons on his filthy shirt. Naked down to the waist before he could even so much finish taking his next breath.

"_Glenn_, com'on. Gotta get ya' warm." The man repeated, words filtering down from somewhere far above his head. Voice sounding distant and soft as the importance lingering in the backdrop of the man's tone failed to permeate any farther then the outside of his ears.

Because he wasn't really listening anymore, mind getting muddled up somewhere in between differentiating the word from the consonants. Brain stuttering over a distinction he had the sneaking suspicion had never been so hard to determine as it was now.

_Something was wrong… His brain was-... _He was halfway through fumbling with his jean zipper before the man was up in his face again. Lips arching downward in a worried frown as predatory eyes took in the length of him.

"Oh for fucks sakes!" The man barked, huffing out a frustrated sigh as he batted his hands away, going down on his knees in front of him as he began stripping him efficiently. His movements quick but thorough as the younger Dixon made short work of his sopping jeans and navy sweater, peeling off his t-shirt like an afterthought as he let the clothing stay where they fell, shucked off and dripping into the warped wooden floor boards without even so much as a second thought.

And despite it all, he couldn't help but think that if he _wasn't_ absolutely positive that he would _never_ regain feeling in all his extremities, this probably would have been rather arousing. -…Thank god he couldn't spare the blood flow for anything more then half hearted flush, or else Daryl would have probably burst a blood vessel.

"And don't get any funny ideas either." Daryl suddenly added, voice filtering up from somewhere between his navel and right hip. Clearly gnawing on the inside of his cheek as the man's fingers flipped open the top button of his jeans, undoing the zipper with the crook of his knuckle even as he wrestled the thick, uncooperative fabric down the length of his sodden thighs.

He just blinked at that. Letting the words percolate in his brain for a long moment before realization slowly dawned.

And if he could have figured out how to make his lungs work he might have laughed at that …_Ideas?_ His balls had probably shriveled up so small he might as well have rewound past _puberty_.

…_Dumbass._

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Please let me know what you think? Or indeed if I should continue? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

**Glossary:**

- "_Yeon-in"_: is the Koreans word for: "Sweetheart".

- "_Tangpyeongchae_": is a Korean dish made with _Nokdumuk_ (a bean starch jelly) and vegetables.

- "_Kongguksu_": is a Korean dish made up of a cold noodle dish with a broth made from ground soy beans.

- "_Uhm-ma_": is the Korean word for: "Mom" (the informal term).

"_Drown in a cold vat of whiskey? Death, where is thy sting?" -W. C. Fields_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is my fill response to an unbelievably cute prompt posted on LJ at the TWD_Kink Meme community_: "__Glenn/Daryl: Hypothermia: Something happens to Glenn and he needs to warm up RIGHT now. Daryl is pretty sure the world hates him. Anon's choice as to details, etc, etc! Run with it!__"_ *****Rated for: adult language, adult situations, light slash, and adorableness.

_**The Problem with Fruit Baskets**_

_**Chapter Two**_

It wasn't long after that when Daryl made a grudging noise of triumph, tossing him a blanket from clear across the room before he went back to rummaging through a tiny notch in west wall that had apparently served as some sort of makeshift closet for the original owner. Almost missing what the man said as he yanked the swath of fabric off his head, spitting out the taste of moulding fabric and mothballs as his head popped out from the top.

"Git under that and take 'yer shorts off too." Daryl ordered. Dropping his own dripping jeans to the floor in mid pace. Leaving him in nothing but a pair of sodden, dark brown boxers for a long, rather eye catching second before he wrapped himself in another ratty old comforter, the only other blanket in the entire cabin.

…_Huh. _Maybe it was just the possible hypothermia talking, but despite looking like a half drowned swamp rat the man definitely had a _thing_ going on. - Nope. _Definitely _the hypothermia; he hoped…

He sank into the blanket gratefully. Too busy seeping up the relative warmth to care how pathetic it might have looked as he struggled to wriggle out of his shorts. Finding the thin fabric all but plastered to his skin as tingling fingers slipped and slid across the span of the elastic band before they found purchase.

The blanket was a patchwork monstrosity of old yarn and ripped cloth. Smelling at _least_ fifty times worse then it actually looked (if that was even _possible_). With the scent disturbingly reminiscent of the pungent, overly rubbery smell of long stored winter tires, and a musty, unaired attic. Any other time he would have wrinkled his nose at the thick-set thing. After all, it was filthy, smelly, and it looked a whole lot like a fabric factory had _exploded_. And yet, at the same time, it was hands down the _best_ thing _ever._

Because right now all he could think was – _warm_, _yes, _and thank god creepy forest dwelling hermits that left their cabin doors unlocked and had the common sense to store blankets year round…

He yanked it up over his shoulders so that the trailing ends curled around his neck, tickling his ears like a popped shirt collar as he tried to melt deeper into his own skin. A trickle of ice water seeped down from his hairline, beading at his temple like the remnants of a cold sweat as a chill shuddered though him.

He closed his eyes, feeling his chest slowly expand and contract, inhaling and exhaling in a slow - _too slow _rhythm. Skin all but vibrating as frozen nerve endings slowly recognized the growing heat. …God he was tired.

Time was running together again, losing ground between his bouts of shivering, before jumping with slow, frenetic energy from one moment to the next. Because somewhere in between that last moment and now, Daryl had managed to get a small fire going in the dusty hearth that took up nearly half the front wall. There was even a rusty old kettle suspended over the flames, complaining periodically at the abuse with the occasional metallic squeak as the man breezed in and out of the small cabin, wearing his blanket like some sort of makeshift poncho as he ferried the rest of their gear inside and barricaded the door once again.

But it wasn't until the moment that Daryl plunked a chipped mug of searing tea into his empty hands that he seriously considered taking up love poetry. The hunter was on a _roll _today. It was like there was a freakin' three for one deal on at the local Hero Mart or something. - Or at least he did until he tasted it….

Because after his first tentative swallow he was too busy choking and spluttering to even comment on the fact that what he'd originally_ thought_ was tea, was actually a mug full of hot water, whiskey and a tea bag for camouflage.

_Oh the man was good._

"Warmed 'ya up didn't it?" The man pointed out, voice teetering on the edge of something close to amusement as he dropped a tea bag into his own cup. Giving him a quick once over as he stirred the steaming liquid with a quick swirl of his index finger. Sucking the digit into his mouth afterwards with apparently no thought towards just how _filthy_ the action itself actually looked. The hunter's cheeks going momentarily hollow as his tongue bathed the finger clean.

He swallowed. _Hard._

And while his lungs were still too busy trying to violently vacate his body to do anything more than fix the man with a rather watery looking death glare. He glowered at him through streaming eyes with as much force as he could muster, considering the circumstances.

_Say what you want about Daryl Dixon, but the man was a clever bastard._

The man only took a generous swig from the bottle of stolen Macallan 12, swallowing with impressive ease before fixing him with another assessing gaze, apparently approving of his near poisoning as he turned back towards the fire. Sticking something that looked suspiciously similar to the brace of squirrels he'd managed to catch before they'd been surrounded, onto a make shift spit just above the flames.

_From there on in, it was back to the love poetry and flowers._

Because really, how did one go about thanking someone for something like this? He doubted that Hallmark had ever cashed into the whole: _"Thank you for saving me from a horrifically terrible, painful death by tossing me off a cliff and into a sub zero river, causing me to nearly down. Leading you to have to fish me out just to have save my life all over again,"_ niche. …Okay, so maybe it hadn't exactly been a _cliff_ per say. But the point was still valid.

There just weren't fruit baskets made for this sort of thing.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love.

**Glossary: **

-_MaCallan 12: _A common brand of US Whiskey, aged 12 years.

"_Winter is nature's way of saying - "Up yours." _~Robert Byrne.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** This is my fill response to an unbelievably cute prompt posted on LJ at the TWD_Kink Meme community_: "__Glenn/Daryl: Hypothermia: Something happens to Glenn and he needs to warm up RIGHT now. Daryl is pretty sure the world hates him. Anon's choice as to details, etc, etc! Run with it!__"_ *****Rated for: adult language, adult situations, light slash, and adorableness.

**The Problem with Fruit Baskets**

_**Chapter Three**_

He could feel the bones in his hands creaking. Shifting and popping like the foundations of an old house settling into the late evening chill. He felt, honestly, he didn't know_ how_ he felt. Light maybe? …No. That wasn't right. Not when his lids felt so god damned heavy. Maybe it was more like that feeling you get when you're about to-…

"You back with me kid?" The man asked. Voice breaking through the fog with all the subtly of his Uhm-ma when she started talking about _grandchildren_ and prying about his social life. Conversations that had inevitably ended with him having to field a set of rapid fire questions about anything from the number of girls in his university classes to the set up of his living room, and it's 'conductiveness' to making any of his more feminine study partners more 'comfortable'. - Let it not be said that his Uhm-ma didn't do _anything _without an ulterior motive. She'd been making noise about wanting a lap full of grand babies since his first year of _college _for Christ sakes!

It was a fascinating question really. Not about his Uhm-ma or his nonexistent marriage prospects, but the other thing. He felt like his brain was still free floating. Muscles tingling all the way down to the smoothness of sinew muffled ivory as his mind stumbled through the grey. The baffling sensation reverberating down the length of him in a series of slow, prickling waves that had his temples all but throbbing…

It wasn't really painful per say. More like persistent. _Rhythmic_... – Though, come to think if it, that explanation didn't really make much sense either. …So maybe, all else considered, that confusion was answer enough in itself?

But since Daryl was apparently expecting an answer, he forced a few barely formed thoughts to voice. To busy being grateful that his throat still worked to care how the words seemed to slur and pitch all at the same time. Or how they made the man turn on his heel in mid pace, fixing him with a look he'd never seen the man wear. Something that briefly softened the sharp edges of the man's face before it was swiftly replaced with a gentle frown.

The word to describe the expression was on the tip of his tongue, but he lost it a second later as Daryl shifted in place, the muscles in his bare legs bunching and releasing through the narrow gap between the blankets as he shifted his stance. Naked toes curling into the filthy hardwood as the man took another reckless sip from the bottle. Letting the neck dangle from between a few careless fingers as the hunter palmed the delicate glass introspectively.

"But, you were in there too, in the water… - Why aren't you all…well, you know?" He stuttered disjointedly, gesturing around them with a crook of his index finger before slipping his hands back into the blanket. Teeth beginning to chatter, as if on cue, as his mind began flashing back to the sensation if that aching cold. The temperature drowning him from the outside in as the current pulled him under again and again.

It sent him back to that moment. The moment where he'd lost all sense of direction. Which way was up? Down? …He needed air. _Air! – No, he was trapped! He had to get to the surface! Move! Kick! – _And worse still, in his minds eye, he could sense those worrisome, bending shadows that were coiling just behind his eyes as the current pulled him under and_… – Oh!_

He was startled out of his thought once again as the Daryl leaned forward, refilling their cups with hot water before shoving him down the couch a bit, freeing up a bit of space beside him as the man sat down. Slumping across the smelly piece of furniture without even so much as a raised eyebrow - apparently oblivious to the fact that the sudden action had sent the smell of stale fabric and ancient mothballs tumbling into the close, fire-warmed air.

They sat like that for long moment. Simply soaking in the slow, drawling seconds for what they were. Listening to each other sip at their mish-mash of weak tea and whiskey, as the loud whinging of the ancient couch springs pinged and shifted under their combined weight. - And if he hadn't been so god damned cold, he _might_ have been able to say that it was almost…_comfortable._

"Just more used to it is all." The man finally remarked, wrapping his own blanket a little bit closer around him as he made to continue, getting back up in a fluid, but undeniably restless motion in order to pace across the length of the cabin. Shifting the logs in the fire as the hunter built up the blaze just a little bit higher as the flames crackled across the old, dried out wood.

He shook his head at that, neck wobbling at the unexpected effort as he closed his eyes. Brain spinning as his eyes tried and inevitably failed to track the man's sudden, jarring movements. He could feel a headache building between his temples. Mind throbbing as the smell of wood smoke and murky river water filtered through his senses as he tried to breathe through it.

…_Come on, focus._

The scent of dust and petrified pine sap rose in the damp, moisture laden air. And he realized all at once that he'd never smelled anything quite like it. It made his nostrils twitch and his muscles go lax all at the same time. – In fact, it made him think of Daryl more then anything else. The scent just sort of…_fit._

"Besides, you were in there a lot longer then I was. I had to come down the side of the river bank after I dealt with the rest of the walkers before I could fish you out. The current took you farther then I thought…" The older man continued, squinting at him momentarily from clear across the room before he moved to one of the darkened windows, peering out of a tiny rip in the fabric as he checked the area outside for geeks.

For reasons beyond him he wanted to call bullshit on that. Figuring there was a bit more to the explanation then that. Perhaps even a story or two mixed in. But instead of mustering up the energy to ask, he remained silent. Fixing Daryl with a passive stare until the man unexpectedly continued. Glaring at him almost mutinously, as if he were somehow prying for personal information rather then slowly falling through the gaps between the lumpy couch cushions.

"…Might'a fallen through the ice a few times huntin' with Merle when we were kids." The man snapped. Tone hard and not exactly inviting the furthering of that particular strain of conversation as the hunter leveled him with his best 'eat shit and die expression'.

He sensed it was more a matter of being _pushed_, rather then _falling_. But he decided to keep the peace by not dredging up any more hard feelings. Instead he tried to imagine going through what he just had _more_ then once. Shivering on pure impulse as the numbing sensation of that polar cold threatened to crawl back up his spine. The mere memory being enough to have him all but quivering into blankets all over again. - And in true Daryl form, the man didn't miss it. Come to think of it, there was remarkably little that the hunter actually missed in the first place.

"Warm enough kid?" Daryl grunted, canting his head at him from his stance by the fire. Shoulders hunched around the ragged insides of his own blanket as the brightness of the flames danced with the shadows across the surface of the man's scar-scattered skin.

He had to hold back a burst of hysterical laughter at that. _Warm?_ He was quite sure he was_ never_ going to be warm again. _Ever…_

He managed to utter what he hoped sounded like a derisive snort, fixing the man with an incredulous look as he turtle-bobbed his way deeper into the growing warmth. _Warm his skinny Korean ass_.

Not long after that however, a stinging little prickle coursed up the length of his inner thigh, spreading a sensation he couldn't quite define up through his reluctant veins. He didn't know exactly how to classify it. It was something similar to pins and needles…but not at the same time.

But even then the discomforting feeling only caused him to smile through bared teeth, pressing his lips into the blanket as he let the uncomfortable sensation run its course. It was as close to a _normal_ body function he'd been able to manage since puking up that gut full of river water and god only knows what. And really, at this point, he'd take whatever tattered bits of normalcy he could get.

Apparently unimpressed with his answer, Daryl stalked back across the room, pouring a fresh shot of whiskey into his half empty cup without even so much as a word to the contrary. Glaring from the rim to his lips and then back again until he gave in and took a tentative sip. _…Euck._

He was half way through his second, or maybe third sip by the time he realized that Daryl was right. Grudgingly nodding his thanks as he realized that in spite of the horrific taste, the high proof liquid _really was _warming him up, sending heat lancing down his throat and streaming through his veins like liquid fire. The potent drink warming him from the outside in as he took another eager gulp.

_The man really was a magnificent bastard._

He was about to say something more, possibly forcing out a few flagging sentences relating to the fact that the others were probably worried sick about them by now. – Mostly concerned about the very real possibility that Rick would end up doing something heroically stupid, like sending out a rescue party in the middle of the night, when his mind abruptly went _blank._

With all thoughts of freezing rivers, over excited sheriffs, and bat shit insane rednecks being replaced in mid breath. …Bowled over by an overwhelming ache that already had him shifting into the emaciated cushions, pressing himself into that lumpy softness like he was trying to burrow right out of his own god damned skin. - Searching in vain for some small respite as the irritating tingle that had been steadily moving through his frozen limbs suddenly morphed into a soul lancing _throb_.

And for a long moment it was all he could do but to simply breathe.

…Because _that_ was the moment when the pain started.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"_If you spend too much time warming up, you'll miss the race. If you don't __warm up__ at all, you may not finish the race.__" - _Grand Heidrich.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** Please see original chapter for complete information on all warnings, descriptions, and etc.

**The Problem with Fruit Baskets**

_**Chapter Four**_

His limbs seized, sparking feebly as his entire body just _roiled._ – God. This was too much. Something was wrong, _very_ wrong. And he couldn't seem to stop himself from-…

He remembered the speaker at that guest lecture droning on about the dangers of something called "_Re-warming collapse_," or was it "_Re-warming shock_?" He couldn't recall which one it was, or if they were two separate things entirely. It was all melding together anyway. All he could remember was a few muddled snatches of conversation regarding a sudden drop in blood pressure and low cardiac output.

But even then, the facts were sparse at best, reduced back to black and white memories with crappy audio and even worse pitch that reeled through his brain like a roll of partly destroyed microfilm. Churning and jumbling together until he couldn't tell the facts from the hearsay.

He breathed in a series of shallow, rough edged gasps. Body still desperately trying to catalog the sensation as his nerve endings sparked and throbbed. Burning and writhing just underneath his skin as he trembled in place. He couldn't seem to catch his breath. He felt brittle, like if he moved the wrong way he'd snap in half. Unable to hear anything above the defeating thrum of his racing heart and the high pitched shiver of his teeth chattering together as his entire body decided to go kamikaze on itself without his consent.

This was bad… This was _oh-god-I-need-to-be-in-the-hospital-kind-of-bad_. This was the kind of shit they made shiny hospital equipment and _mothers _for. Except this time he didn't have the luxury of _either_.

It reminded him of –actually_,_ he didn't know_ what _it reminded him of. He doubted anything he'd ever experienced in his life could compare. Not even those long, dragging moments when he'd woken up after the crash. Confused, disoriented, and slumped over the steering wheel of the delivery car as he'd blinked himself awake. The air bag scratchy and deflated against his cheek as he'd moaned. Lifting his throbbing forehead up from where it had been pressing against the horn, cutting off the sound with a deflated little honk as his hearing suddenly returned with a vengeance. The sudden, blissful silence almost stark in its simplicity as the sound of pitching screams and cut off cries echoed through the city streets around him like sound bites from the next Hollywood blockbuster.

But before he could think about it any further, another searing hitch brought him crashing back to reality, sending him toppling back into himself as the man's hand fell across the curve of his shoulder. Sinking down through his chilled flesh until it seemed as though that wide palmed hand had somehow melded itself into his very skin. Rubbing rough circles into the back of his neck with an in an unexpectedly comforting press as the man started to speak.

"Kid…_Glenn_. Don'cha fuckin' go anywhere on me... Ya'hear?"

He wavered in place. There was urgency there now; lurking in the gravely tones of the man's voice every time he bit out some command or manhandled him further down into the couch. It was almost tangible, creeping into Daryl's voice unbidden, as if pulled up from some deep, unknown place that the man himself didn't even know existed.

"What? I don't underst-…_oh!_" He gasped finally, wrenching himself out of the man's grip and back down into the cushions as pain speared across his limbs. - _Oh fuck._

"It's gonna be a bitch kid. Just ride it out." Daryl's voice echoed. Floating through the air just above his head like a fine layer of mist. - Because suddenly all the man's attentive looks and careful stares made blinding sense. He'd been waiting for this. He'd known. _Of course he'd known_.

He remembered only vague sections from that fuzzy power point presentation. Distinctly remembering how the guest speaker had breezed through nearly the entire section on hypothermia in order to focus on how to craft the perfect splint for arm injuries. If he was remembering it correctly, the re-warming process had something to do with the body jump starting itself. Cardio vascular something or other, mixed with that blood-flow-whatever-you-call-it-majigger.

…_Shit._

"It hurts, I don't know why I'm-..." He clenched out. His teeth chattering so violently that it hurt as his limbs seized in place. Muscles knotting and shrinking as that strange, tingling burn flooded through him inch by inch.

It felt like his entire body was being reduced. Like his cells were being seared clean, reduced back down to the moment of conception as a shock wave of sensation roared through him with all the temerity of a side winding twister; unpredictable and destructive as the searing pain only intensified. – His body burned straight through it all as he twisted into the cushions. Desperate to escape from something he could no more flee from than _oxygen_.

He was only barely conscious of the movement as the man whirled in place, crossing the length of the room in a few uneven strides. Blanket ends trailing behind him like some sort of ratty looking cape as the man plucked something off the piece of wire he'd draped above the hearth somewhere in between the whole ninja tea incident and that second shot of whiskey.

"Here, this'll help some." Daryl muttered. Crouching down beside him as he plunked what looked suspiciously similar to the _same _handkerchief the man used to wipe his god damned _mouth_ with, right over his freezing head.

He was about to make some noise about that, something about possible bio-hazards and the unsanitary nature of sharing bodily fluids before the _impossible _warmth started seeping through his skin. Making him shut up before he'd even so much as _started_ as tendrils of heat shot down his temples and coursed through him like fresh blood being injected into old veins. …Because really, that smelly, fire-warmed piece of cloth had suddenly become the _best _thing _ever_…

He couldn't even begin to describe it, the warmth…the _heat. _Heck, it nearly had him reeling. The sensation made him feel giddy and strangely light until he was leaning shamelessly against the older man. Woozy from the sudden rush as pin pricks of contentment flared to life behind his closed lids.

But as Daryl straightened the covers, making sure he was completely swathed in the moldy old blankets, the man's fingers inadvertently raked across his hair. Leading those blunt, callous roughened fingers to burrow into strands, accidentally scratching across the length of his scalp as an _unexpected_ burst of warmth coiled low in his belly. …The sensation all but making his toes curl right then and there.

He shuddered through it. The sensation only adding to the confusing jumble of sensation as areas of his body he hadn't even known _existed_ before this clamored for attention. Cold, pain, throb, ache, pain, cold, pain, too cold, _pain_. It was all the same, just in a new place, a new location. And it wouldn't stop, it wouldn't fuckin' stop, he couldn't-

Wait a minute...Scalp, cloth, fingers, head… _Hat?_ – Oh no…

Because it was then and only then that he realized that somewhere along the line he'd lost his hat. And call him crazy, but for some reason that only made everything else seem about ten times_ worse_.

He was still mourning the loss of his hat when Daryl was suddenly hovering over him again. Brusque and completely unapologetic as a single, grubby looking hand smacked him clear across the face, presumable tracking his eye movement and reflexes as he blinked up at him wordlessly.

But what was apparent was that whatever Daryl was looking for, he obviously didn't find it. Because he actually _watched_ as the man's lower lip caught between his teeth. Accidentally splitting the chapped skin as thin line of blood welled up from the cut, and that ever present frown only grew deeper.

God, he was cold.

"_Shit_." Daryl swore. His voice heavy and harsh with that same emotion again, the one he couldn't seem to pin down or define.

Something was wrong…what was Daryl going on about _now?! _He just wanted to rest, to sleep and forget any of this had ever happened. - His eyes were already half shuttered and uncomprehending as some distant part of him vaguely registered the fact that if Daryl Dixon was _this _worked up about something it probably meant only bad things.

And yet, even then, he couldn't even summon up the energy to care…

But by then the man was already moving – moving so fast that his muddled brain only registered the motion as a blur of static. Whirling and twisting right in front of his eyes as a blanket of color spread across the span of his vision. Morphing into a discomforting whirl of off-centered colors as Daryl suddenly swooped down and grabbed him.

Because before he could even so much as internalize it, Daryl was hooking his arms underneath his legs and supporting his back with the length of his chest. Almost lifting him up completely as he took them down into the couch cushions. Wriggling in as deep as he could shove them as the world suddenly went horizontal. With Daryl pressing himself across the length of him, ignoring him completely as he untangled the self-made cocoon of blankets until the man's naked, scar-roughened skin was suddenly sliding against his.

And god help him, but he didn't even think _twice_. He just_ melted_ right into him.

He didn't even care that he was pulling at the man's arms, chest, neck, _everything_, making desperate, needy little sounds into Daryl's skin as he yanked him closer. Letting go of a few embarrassing whimpers as the man pulled him close. Holding him together as the pain spread through his limbs, bone deep and inescapable as he tried his best to all but _climb into_ the older man right then and there.

_Warm._ Oh god… Daryl was warm. _Too warm._ - Deliciously warm. So good…_So_-

But the real kicker was the fact that Daryl just _let_ him, patiently capturing each and every one of his wayward limbs and bringing them into the relative warmth as the tremors gradually began to slow. Keeping at it until his face was tucked into the curve of Daryl's side and his hands clenched tight around his waist. Until even his feet were shoved deep into the impossible warmth of the man's bare thighs as Daryl murmured wordless sounds into his ears. His blunt, callous-roughened fingers digging into his skin in a way he was sure he would have complained about if he could've separated one sensation from another.

But for now he was _warm… Warm._

He could hear Daryl's heart beating through his chest. It was a fast, unsteady thrum that sent his pulse racing as a single wide palmed hand mapped out the goose bumps that had spread across the span of his shoulders. The action was so careful, so deliberately gentle that he could actually feel the muscles in Daryl's arm vibrating with the effort. Hesitant to even so much as_ breathe_ as those crooked fingers ghosted across his skin like a silent question.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he realized that the pain was lessening. The violent shudders and grating seizures gradually trickling to a close as warmth slowly began flowing through his veins once again. Feeling sinfully good when set against the memory of the polar chill as he shivered on reflex.

And for a long moment he simply shifted into the silence. Letting his limbs burrow further into the scorching pile of warm skin and threadbare blankets. Yawning into the older man's belly as his fingers trailed almost leisurely through a swath of sparse, honey brown hair. Tracing the outlines of a tattoo or three as feeling slowly returned to his aching fingers.

But his fingers stopped _dead _when his vision suddenly focused. Eyes sharpening and widening into something close to muted _terror _when he realized that his hand was only about a millimeter shy of grazing the erect, dark brown nub of the man's left nipple. Because all else considered, that was the moment where it all really sank in…

_He _was naked. _Daryl _was naked. They were _both_ naked, _very naked_. _Together_.

Oh man.

'_Active core re-warming and external re-warming,' _a nasty little voice in the back of his head sing-songed, _'Blankets, fire, and whiskey, where else did you really think this was going?' _The voice asked snidely, tone a bit too close to gleeful sarcasm for his liking as he slowly pulled his hand off the man's chest.

He was _so _fucked.

But even then, he knew the voice was right. With no higher medical care than a fire and a few pathetically thin blankets, skin on skin contact was just the next step on the hypothermia checklist. Daryl had probably just saved his life…_again_.

How do you even go about thanking someone for that? What was the count now? Five maybe six times that the man had saved his life in under three hours? - _Christ._ He doubted that even John _Freaking_ McClain could best that, even when he'd been in his prime.

"Well…um. This is kinda awkward." He finally managed after a long and rather tenuous silence. Body wracked by only the occasional shiver now as he shifted nervously. Uncertain as to whether he should at least _try_ to reclaim his splayed limbs or stop moving entirely as the man shifted underneath him.

He felt more than heard the half amused snort that Daryl chuffed into his skin. Chin ghosting across his messy coal black hair as the man arranged the blankets more comfortably over the both them. – Appearing supremely unconcerned by all the nakedness and overly familiar manhandling as one of his arms tightened around his waist.

"Shut it, kid." The man growled. Voice so close to his ear that he actually felt the words before he heard them as they slipped from his lips with all subtly of a handful of shotgun shells exploding from their casings.

But apparently, in the end, that was all the affirmation he needed. Because with a small, exhausted little sigh, he simply _relaxed _into the man's tenuous hold. Molding himself freely into every dip, curve, and hard hewn plane of flesh as he finally gave in to the exhaustion that had been steadily creeping through him since the moment that warm cloth had fallen across his head.

He let it all go, holding nothing back as he dug his face into the hollow of Daryl's neck. Uncaring of how it must have looked. Of how _they _must look right now, or even of what Daryl might have thought about the whole thing as he shoved himself as deep as he could go. Breathing in the scent of the older man as his lashes fluttered against the hunter's skin.

…_God he was tired._

He was too exhausted to even notice when Daryl's Adams apple bobbed. The action indicative of a hard swallow as the man tensed, and then slowly relaxed. Seeming dead set on following his own advice as the man finally yawned and laid back. His awkward fidgets tapering off into stillness as he arranged the blankets more securely around them. – His movements practiced and almost achingly familiar as the man pulled him in; settling down beside him like they'd done this a _hundred_ times before rather than never.

His last conscious thoughts were of his eyes drifting closed right around the same time as the man let out a remarkably contented sounding purr. His tempered breaths slurring down to a honeyed crawl as the older man shifted. Using the sudden laxness in his limbs to pull him even closer as Daryl buried his face into the crook of his neck. His big palms sinking into the knotted muscles of his shoulders as the hunter leaned in and-…

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Please let me know what you think? Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"_Adapt or perish, now as ever, is nature's inexorable imperative.__" _- H. G. Wells.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own AMC's The Walking Dead or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.

**Authors Note #1:** Please see original chapter for complete information and appropriate warnings.

**The Problem with Fruit Baskets**

_**Chapter Five**_

He woke up the next morning all but_ mainlining_ Daryl Dixon.

He didn't know of any other word to describe it. Breathing, feeling, hearing, smelling, _everything_. He didn't have to see the man's face to know it was true. He could smell it in the air, feel it against his skin. Hell, he even recognized the calloused lump of cartilage that marked the beginning of the man's wrist as it brushed rhythmically against the flat of his stomach as he tried to remember how to breathe. – Finding the familiarity of it unexpectedly comforting as his mind slowly revved up into full wakefulness.

And strangest of all, it wasn't even a necessarily _bad_ thing either_._ Because, as worrisome as the thought was, to essentially wake up and find himself curled up beside one Daryl _fucking _Dixon, it didn't feel as awkward or traumatic as he'd expected it would.

Funny how shit seems to work out sometimes…

But still, it had to be said. _Holy. Freakin'. Shit. - _He'd spooned with a Dixon and he still had all his extremities? How was that even possible?! Daryl had all the couth and understanding of a pit bull on steroids. Operating on a purely punch first; ask questions later policy that he'd applied to basically all aspects of his life.

So, his near death aside, why did he get a get out of jail free card? Or was Daryl the type of man that liked to play with his food before he ate it?

God, he was so boned. He was alive, but completely and undoubtedly _fucked_. - And just to make matters that much _worse_, if he sensed a nice little sexual identity crisis brewing in the back of his mind, well, at least he couldn't call his inner self a ginormous liar either.

So, like he'd said…_boned. _

In fact, he had himself halfway worked up into a good old fashion freak out when Daryl let out an impossible, half-snore-half-snuffling-_thing_ into the curve of his shoulder. Something which naturally made him promptly forget about whatever he'd been freaking out about in the first place as his mind went into sensual overdrive as he considered all the hours of masturbation potential that single, ten second memory was going to provide him over the course of the next few weeks.

…_Because really, that was just completely unfair_…

In the end he settled on just breathing, pushing everything else aside as he schooled his heartbeats and tried to act natural. Contenting himself with remaining where he was as he took it in, in all its surreal and strangely fitting glory as the man snored and fussed in his sleep. Leaving his face where he'd apparently mashed it the night before as he exhaled into the curve of Daryl's shoulder. – Nose dangerous close to the man's arm pit as he took in the thick, slightly woodsy scent of biting pine and raw minerals that seemed to emanate from the hunter's skin like some sort of natural cologne.

The man's hair had dried sometime during the night and was now sticking up out of his head in half wilted spikes that somehow managed to make him look about ten years younger than he probably was, but strangely, no less dangerous at the same time. – _Go figure_. At this point he'd be surprised if the man hadn't had a buck knife in his hand before he'd held a spoon.

Curious now, he carefully peeked over the curve of the man's chest. Eager, for reasons he'd rather not examine too closely, to use this rare opportunity to his advantage. After all, it wasn't every day that you got unfettered access to ogle the man's person. - Daryl tended to threaten people with sharp objects and level them with his best _look-at-me-for-one-more-second-and-they-will-never-find-your-body-_glare when he caught people looking at him for too long.

But for now, the man was dead to the world and as far as he was concerned it was all systems go on plan:_ 'Creepin' Daryl Dixon_.' - And while he pretty sure he'd either hit his head falling down that ravine, or was possibility still suffering from the side effects of hypothermia, he figured he'd died one too many times yesterday to give the absolutely _insanity _that was his brain anything more than a passing thought.

This was a rare opportunity dammit.

His eyes trickled down the length of him, taking in every scar, every uneven tan line, bruise and pock-marked imperfection before he was suddenly stopped cold. - He blinked into the near light, eyes wide and uncomprehending as his gaze stuttered over something that _should _have been absolutely impossible_._

Daryl had freckles.

He wasn't exactly sure why this was something that was apparently important or why he suddenly cared, but the fact remained that Daryl had _freckles _and it made absolutely_ no_ sense. Cute five year old kids that were missing their two front teeth had freckles. That knock out red head in his Stats class had freckles. But grown men did _not_ have freckles. Least of all men like Daryl Dixon. – Except, you know, when they _did_.

No wonder the world had gone and ended on them. This kind of shit just wasn't physically _possible._

But Daryl just snored through the whole realization. The light, rasping sound coming out soft and muffled as the older man pressed his face further down into the lumpy couch pillows. Grunting softly as his arm tightened around his waist, the movement so raw and honest that he couldn't help but crack a smile in response.

The corners of his lips tugged upwards as he grinned into the curve of the man's arm. Finding himself utterly powerless to resist as he slowly let himself slide back down into the man's sleep loosened hold. With the whole thing suddenly reminding him of something his Aunt had always said when he'd asked for the time. - What was it again? That tongue in cheek phrase? Something about half past a freckle, and- _oh shit!_

_The time!_

He shot off the couch like a bottle rocket. Sending Daryl flailing with surprise at the sudden movement the same moment that he tripped over his own feet and flopped back down onto the couch - effectively trapping them in a confusing tangle of blankets as both of them tried to pull free at once. But in spite of the indignity of it all, the man's head was set on a predatory swivel. His movements half panicked as Daryl fought through the mess of blankets and staggered to his feet. Apparently under the impression that they were under attack as his buck knife glinted in the low light, upraised and ready as his keen eyes panned across the room.

For a long moment he just stared. Because really, they were both naked, so where in the seven _hells _had Daryl been hiding that thing?! …The knife, not his dick, but you know that too. - However, almost as soon as the thought had formed, he was quite certain that he probably didn't want to know the answer anyway. Sometimes ignorance was fucking bliss, plain and simple.

And almost as if he'd sensed his thoughts, Daryl shot him a nasty look from across the room, snorting in clear annoyance as he threw himself across the couch and sunk his knife deep into the armrest. - Fixing him with an undeniably expectant look as the older man peered up from the mound of threadbare blankets and moth-eaten pillows with all the temerity of a man waiting for an explanation.

The man looked utterly ridiculous. Laying there all naked, bruise-streaked and filthy, with his hair sticking up all over his head like a porcupine on a bad hair day. It made him look about five shades closer to adorable than he was strictly comfortable with and whole hell of a lot less serious as Daryl canted his head towards him. His dark blue eyes lingering as the unexpected silence slowly began to stretch.

It was only when a sudden chill ghosted across his flanks that he realized he was _still_ naked. – _Oh Right_. The river, drowning, wet clothes, blankets, nakedness, sleep... _Shit._

But instead of doing the smart thing, like tugging a blanket from the pile or streaking across the room to where his clothes were hanging, he just stood there like an idiot. Staring right back as Daryl raised his arms above his head in a supremely unconcerned stretch, giving him a clear once over even as his spine cracked all the way down. Stretching out like a cat lazing in a sunbeam and acting for all the world like this kind of shit happened every other day instead of well, _never._

_Wait, did Daryl just lick his lips?_

"Um, we should probably go. It looks ah…earlyish?" He finally tried, desperately trying to reclaim the tattered scraps of his dignity as he fidgeted in place. Frantically trying to ignore the way his cock was starting to perk up and take note. - Something which was entirely Daryl's fault by the way. Because from this angle it looked like the man was doing something absolutely _obscene _to the couch cushions, stretching out like the proverbial cat that had gotten the canary. Limbs loose and relaxed as he ran his hands through his hair and arched his back, apparently content to just sit there and give him heart failure as his muscles rippled and bunched with every tiny, infinitesimal little movement.

_Oh god, this was a fucking disaster._

But if Daryl was feeling any discomfort with their whole situation, he certainly didn't show it. In fact, he just raised an eyebrow, looking from him, to the window, to his coc-_groin_ and then back again. Fixing him with that patented Dixon stare that'd nearly made him _piss _himself the first time Daryl had gotten into an argument with Shane back at the quarry camp outside of Atlanta.

Let it not be said that a Dixon _ever _did things in halves. The glare hadn't even been directed at him and he'd _still_ been tempted to rabbit…

"Erm, aren't the others are going to be, you know…_worried_?" He finished lamely. The sentence coming out sounding more like a question than anything else as Daryl just rolled the cricks out of his neck, looking supremely unconcerned with his babbling as the man continued to eye him down with that same inscrutable look.

If the whole moment hadn't seemed so surreal he might have been tempted to pinch himself. He was ass naked and arguing with Daryl freakin' Dixon. Who was coincidentally also_ just_ as naked underneath only a thin covering of blankets. – Christ, something about that just _didn't _compute…

_All they needed now was the X-Files theme song echoing in the background and the mood would be set._

"Are you even listening to me? Shouldn't we be heading back to the-_hurk_!"

But he didn't even get a chance to finish. Because quick as a flash, just as he was about to turn away and grab his clothes, Daryl uncoiled himself from the moth-eaten tangle and caught him by the scruff of the neck. Taking him down into blankets with a move that sent him sprawling. _Hands-fingers-feet_ all flailing momentarily as the man yanked him backwards. Fighting gravity for a few precious seconds before naked skin met equally as naked skin.

And before he could even _begin _to protest, he was brought up short by _that_ sensation alone. – By the patch work, scar-roughened softness of it all. By the way he could actually feel the man's skin as it caught against his own, all bed warmed and incomprehensibly appealing as the man shifted around him. Somehow managing to reel him and arrange him comfortably around the curve of his chest despite the awkward cacophony of sharp elbows and obtuse angles that made up their conjoined limbs.

And like he was caught in the grips of some sort of compulsion, he just_ dug_ his fingers into the man's skin. Heart hammering in his chest as Daryl's breathing hitched. Stuttering out from between tightly clenched teeth as the ghost of a finger nail caught against the ropey zig-zag of some long healed scar. Causing the hunter to make a noise in his throat that heralded that of a bitten off whine. – Almost as if even now, the hunter was desperately trying to keep quiet.

And in that moment he decided he liked _everything _about it, everything about that noise, this moment, and the man himself. …Because Daryl felt _real_. Real and good in a way that probably wouldn't have made much sense to him close to four months ago. But as his Uhm-ma would have said, that was then and _this_ was now….

Because right now Daryl was tugging up the covers and molding his criminally warm skin along the length of his naked spine, blanketing him with stale, whiskey flavored morning breath and the gentle tang of a water-washed sweat. - Not saying even so much as a single god damned word about it as the man's scratchy, blanket warmed thighs splayed across his. Hips hitching on pure reflex as Daryl played with the blanket ends. Reeling him in like a river bass as he wrapped the blankets tighter around them both. Not stilling until the crappy fabric was draped over every square inch of them.

_Well, okay then._

"Or, you know, we could just wait here for a while…" He muttered finally, unable to hold back an amused grin as the man just _'hrummpffted'_ into the couch cushions. Sounding both grouchy and far too pleased with himself as he spooned into the back of him.

"Fuckin' baby..." Daryl grunted, his tone coming out ridiculously fond despite the caustic nature of his words as one of his arms wrapped possessively around his thigh. Shoving himself impossibly closer as he huffed a breath into the vulnerable curve of his throat.

And for a long time, that was all either of them had to say on the matter.

The man _was_ warm after all…

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** This story is now complete. Please let me know what you thought about this final chapter and the story in general. Thank you for all your support and encouragement throughout the course of this story, you guys are awesome!

"_All architecture is shelter, all great architecture is the design of space that contains, cuddles, exalts, or stimulates the persons in that space._" _- _Philip Johnson.


End file.
